Writing is like any other kind of work. Most of the time it isn’t easy, glamorous or fun. It’s staring at the blank page or screen wondering where all the inspiration you had when you started has suddenly gone. It’s wondering why the Muse never returns your calls. It’s looking at the words you ground out onto the page after much toil and seeing that it they are not anywhere near as beautiful and clear as they were in your head. It’s looking at your millionth rejection slip and cursing God (whether you believe in Him or not) the universe, and anything else you can think of. It’s laying dead dry words on the ground in terrible heat in hope that they will catch fire.
There are some consolations. You can always take pride in being Special and Different and in the Greatness of your Soul. But nothing is as small as a soul in love with its own greatness. Or you can simply work and wait and hope. Then the words will catch fire, the dead bones will come to life and you will remember why you are a writer.